


Off the Grid

by robottas



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Character Death, Cyberpunk AU, Gen, takes place in the distant future, violence and bad words!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-07 08:22:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16404776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robottas/pseuds/robottas
Summary: All Formula One prospects sign a lifetime contract with the FIA. Some liken this to signing your soul away to the devil, but it's only a rumor that trying to break that contract can cost you your life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Cyberpunk AU! Everything takes place hundreds of years in the future. The world is much more corrupt. All races are night races with cool neon lights and shit. I've exaggerated the personalities of some of the drivers so everyone isn't always completely IC. Think of it as a mirrorverse where everyone's a bit more edgy--you have to be in a shitty world like this.

It’s raining hard in Hong Kong. The harsh downpour makes the entire city look like a bleary mess of smudged neon lights. Despite the weather, it’s as bustling as ever with taxies taking off every thirty seconds and people walking the streets, chattering to each other and dipping in and out of various shops.

A hooded figure makes his way past the crowd, dressed in all black with a mask pulled up over the bottom half of his face. No one finds this suspicious and he’s barely acknowledged as he ducks out of the rain and into a small bakery at the corner of the intersection. Like most shops around here, it’s packed. The hooded man gets in line, eyes scanning behind the counter. He wasn’t looking at the baked goods, but rather the workers swarming just behind them.

One worker catches his eye in particular. He’s short, clean shaven with close cropped hair. He’s barking orders in Mandarin but there’s a strange accent to it. Clearly not his native tongue. Though he speaks it with confidence as if it is. His name tag reads “SAMUEL/塞缪尔”.

Samuel turns back to the register as the hooded man approaches. “What can I get for you?” he asks in both Mandarin and English. There is definitely a Spanish sounding twang to his English, even if he is trying to hide it.

The hooded man picks out what he wants from behind the glass counter and as Samuel ducks to grab it, he leans in. “You know, you look awfully familiar. Ever get mistaken for a Formula 1 driver?”

Samuel frowns as he wraps up the man’s orders. “A Formula 1 one driver? No. Think I just have one of those faces, y’know?”

“Hmm.” The hooded man pays for his order and steps back outside in the rain and tosses it in the garbage can nearby. He has what he's looking for and it isn’t the bread.

He ducks down the alley on the side of the bakery and waits.

It seems like an eternity goes by before the backdoor of the bakery swings open and Samuel steps out, apron in hand. He takes a deep breath of the cold night air, clearly not bothered by the rain. The hooded man emerges from the darkness, pistol drawn and trained on Samuel. The baker stares at him in confusion. “If you are going to rob me, why didn’t you do it back there when I had access to the cash register?”

“I’m not here to rob you,” the hooded man replies, pulling down his face mask. The look of shock on Samuels face fades to a look of pained resignation as he takes in the man’s features.

“Somehow I am not surprised. Of all the people they could have sent after me, of course it is you.”

The hooded man beams at him. “Well, good to see you too old friend.”

Samuel waves his hand in annoyance. “Fuck off with that. If you are going to kill me, then just kill me already.”

The hooded man doesn’t need to be told twice.  


	2. Chapter 2

The heavy smog in the Texas air is almost unbearable. It muffles the bright city lights, creating an atmosphere of eerie unease. It isn’t unlike most cities on the Formula 1 circuit, but Austin is strangely quiet for its size and population. At night it’s almost dead silent, foreboding. As if the people of the city fear what lie in the thick air and stay indoors at night.

 Seb remembers a time not too long ago when being here didn’t offend his senses so much, but pollution regulations seem to grow less and less every year. Not that he really keeps up or bothers with American politics. He supposes this country is dying at the same rate the rest of the world is anyway. They will race here until the city can’t afford to host them anymore and then it’s simply on to the next one.

They have fog lights specifically for nights like this in cities like this but Seb would be lying if he said driving in the smog wasn’t unnerving.  If his teammate is bothered by it, he sure doesn’t show it. Kimi’s standing just outside his garage, the neon lettering that spells his name just above the entrance casting an almost menacing red glow over him. He looks up and their eyes meet but they say nothing. They’ve grown good at silent communication over the years.

One set of garages down, the Mercedes drivers are just showing up. Valtteri is dressed in a heavy jacket, though it can’t be any less than 50 degrees out. It isn’t anything out of the ordinary, Seb has even asked him about it before.

                _“You’re telling me a Finn can’t handle the cold?”_

                _“I could at one point. But my prosthetics are sensitive to the weather.” He had raised his left hand and wiggled the blue metallic fingers to emphasize the point. “A design flaw. But having to accommodate that is better than having no limbs at all.”_

There’s something else that has to do with the artificial parts inside him as well. Something about core body temperature but Seb can’t ever recall the specifics. And so Valtteri’s always the most snugly dressed on chilly nights and always the first one in the ice bath on hotter nights. A small price to pay for being able to live out his life normal and unhindered.

More and more teams starts to trickle into the pit area in preparation for qualifying later that night. Daniel lets his presence be known by letting out a loud “YEEHAW” that seems to bounce around the garage area. Max is laughing behind him, shaking his head.

“You guys ready for a good ol’ fashion American asskicking?” the grinning Aussie jeers as he comes up besides the two Ferrari drivers.

“What, you’re going to call the police and have them execute me on the spot?” Seb replies with a smirk. Maybe he keeps up with American happenings after all.

“I think you missed the part where I said it’s an _‘ol’ fashion’_ American asskicking,” Daniel snorts. “Y’know, rodeo, ten-gallon hat shit. You ever ride a bull Sebastian? I ride one all the time.”

“I have. But I’m more into prancing horses these days.”

Daniel’s grin only grows larger and he waves a finger at him. “Rodeo shit! Still counts!”

Lewis watches them from a far with mild interest, but his mind is trained elsewhere. He turns as one of the engineers hands him a tablet with data from the previous practices. One name stands out to him.

“Lando’s putting down pretty damn fast times for his first race here,” he comments, impressed. “I mean, not enough to be a real threat but still.”

Valtteri leans over to peer at the screen. “Feeling a bit of British pride?”

Lewis laughs at this. “Maybe. Considering he didn’t have Fernando around to ease him into things, it’s just very impressive.” Valtteri nods in agreement.

As qualifying time approaches, the garages get busier and busier and the fans to start to pack into the grandstands. The drivers strap themselves into their cars and little by little, start to make their way onto the track.

Nervousness about the fog aside, Seb puts down several quick laps and shoots to P1 on the leaderboard. He’s taking each corner cautiously but not so careful as to hurt his time. Kimi and Lewis put down the next fastest time but so far have nothing for Seb here in Q1.

“Caution is out,” the radio in his ear buzzes suddenly. “There was an incident in turn twelve. I believe it was the two McLarens.”

Seb slows his car down considerably as he approaches the aforementioned turn. His fog lights illuminated the outer boundaries of the track just enough for him to make out the two bright orange cars. Both are utterly destroyed. Stoffel is climbing out, ripping his helmet off in frustration and slamming it down on the ground. Seb can see him start towards Lando’s car but he’s enveloped in the smog as he drives by and Seb can no longer make out what’s going on.

               

In the end, Seb barely misses out on the pole to Lewis and Valtteri. “P3 in track conditions that haven’t been your strong suit is not bad,” his race engineer comments, but it does little to comfort Seb. Especially when Lewis has a chance to secure the title if he wins this race.

As he climbs from his car, he overhears Esteban and Lance nearby. “I didn’t even know Stoffel was capable of being angry,” Esteban was saying animatedly. “I thought he was about to kill Lando live on television.”

“Probably jealous Lando’s been running so much better than him,” Lance replies.

“Or maybe he thinks he’s responsible for Fernando dropping off the face of the earth,” Esteban says with a cheeky grin.

That was an interesting thought but Seb doesn’t wait around to hear the rest of their gossip. He makes his way towards Lewis and Valtteri who are waiting for him to show up so they can get their starting grid picture taken.

On his way back to the garage, he’s run into—quite literally--by none other than Lando Norris. Lando stares at him, eyes wide. “Sorry!” the younger driver gasps, looking away quickly as he tries to collect himself.

“It’s—” But Lando is practically sprinting away.

The deep seeded fear in his eyes in that short glance he had shared with Seb had been plain as day. It seems to burn into the back of his mind as he watches the ominous fog swallow the McLaren driver whole.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will probably not be regular, I apologize in advance. I just kinda write whenever I feel like it.

To celebrate the Mercedes front starting row, Lewis and Valtteri go out to eat immediately after qualifying ends. _South_ is the name of the restaurant—as simple and pretentious sounding as it can be. But the food is comfort food. Texmex. They still use real chefs instead of synthetics like most restaurants are starting to switch to. Lewis has nothing against robots (hey, he even has _robot friends_ if Valtteri counts) but there’s something in the slight, unique, imperfections of a homecooked meal that robots simply don’t have the soul to replicate.

Lewis was excited about coming here, but he regrets it almost as soon as they step through the door.

Of all the people he could have run into in a city of nearly a million people, of course it has to be Nico Rosberg. Of all the restaurants in Austin—and he’s sure there’s probably hundreds—they had to come to the one currently being occupied by Nico-fucking-Rosberg.

Valtteri apparently can see the sudden look of horror on his teammate’s face. He stares at him in concern. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I think I just did,” Lewis mutters, refusing to take his eyes off the section of the crowd he could have sworn he’d just seen his old teammate disappear into. “I’m certain I just saw Nico.”

Valtteri follows his gaze and frowns. “Are you sure?”

“Almost positive. He was being seated. His wife was with him.”

“Lewis, what are the odds?” he presses in an effort to calm him.

Lewis seems unconvinced. “It would be just my luck.”

The two are led to their table after Valtteri gives them their reservation information. It’s a spacious restaurant but still manages to convey a cozy feeling with it’s dark and dimly lit décor. Lewis feels far from cozy though. As they walk through the bustling restaurant floor, a familiar voice calls out.

“Lewis!”

Lewis freezes but Valtteri quickly ushers him to their table. Almost as soon as they sit down, Nico is making his way towards them, a grin lighting up his face. “What are the chances! It’s good to see you again,” he holds his hand out to shake but Lewis just stares at it.

“What are you doing here, Nico?” he says.

Nico drops his hand and his grin wavers slightly. “This is the best restaurant in all of Texas, remember? Me and you used to come here with the team every US Grand Prix weekend.”

“Yes, but what are you doing in Texas?”

“I’m here on business. I work for the FIA now,” Nico replies proudly.

“I see.”

Showing no signs of being put off by his former teammate’s cold demeanor, he turns to Valtteri. “Good to see you again too Val.” He smirks suddenly. “I hope I’m not interrupting date night.”

Valtteri flushes slightly at the suggestion but Lewis doesn’t miss a beat. “No, we’re just good teammates.”

“Unlike we were, I suppose.”

“Exactly.”

Nico’s gaze seems to darken as they continue their staredown. The Nico that Lewis knows is starting to show through the cracks. The fake, manipulative bastard that no one else seems to ever see. “Well I won’t keep you two any longer. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other more often now with my new position.”

“I sure hope not.”

Nico doesn’t respond to this, simply gives them a slight wave and heads back to his table. Valtteri exhales sharply once he’s gone. “That was awkward.”

“No kidding.” Lewis buries his face in his hands.

His teammate puts a reassuring hand on his back, but although he means well, his cold metal touch only makes Lewis wince slightly.

“Physically, you’re about as comforting as a dishwasher, man,” he says, looking up with a grin.

Unoffended, Valtteri laughs. “So I’ve been told.”

“But I appreciate it.”

 

The remainder of their night goes by uninterrupted. Having a teammate one could spend casual time with without eventually breaking down into some kind of argument still feels like a new experience for Lewis sometimes. Over the years he and Nico had been teammates, they tried to mend their relationship on multiple occasions, making an effort to do things outside racing. But despite their best intentions, things always seemed to go wrong. It just isn’t the same as it was when they were kids. And that’s why they came here for dinner with the rest of the team and not alone—so they could sit on opposite sides of the table and pretend each other didn’t exist.  

But Valtteri is different. He doesn’t take things so personally. He even picks up the check when the waitress drops the bill off, knowing full well Lewis has enough money to buy the entire restaurant if he wants. And he holds the door open when they leave. Little things that he probably thinks nothing of but Lewis notices. He always does.

They can hear the distant sound of sirens from somewhere deeper in the city as they step out into the cool night air. It would be more shocking if they didn’t—cops crawled downtown Austin like bugs. It makes Lewis nervous every year they come here. It’s not like Austin is a particularly crime-ridden or dangerous city—so what were they looking for?

His nervousness increases tenfold when they walk back to his car and find it being swarmed by cops, the still-running police cruisers casting a bright red and blue light over the surrounding area. “Uh, excuse me can I help you?” Lewis prompts as they approach the scene.

“This your car, son?” One of the officers replies, jerking her thumb towards the black Mercedes.

“Yeah, it’s mine. Is there a problem?”

“Got a call that someone was breakin’ into it.”

_‘So you sent the entire department,’_ is what Lewis wants to say but he knows better.

“The car looks fine to me,” Valtteri says, peaking around the officers. “No broken windows.”

The officer looks vaguely annoyed at this. “Yeah well. We like to make sure. We take all calls very seriously around here.”

“If it’s fine, can we leave?” Lewis asks.

“Y’know, a ‘thank you’ for checkin’ up on your car wouldn’t hurt,” she sneers as she takes a step closer to the two. “It’s a real nice car. But you two are clearly foreigners so I wouldn’t expect you to know what kinda scummy people are out walking the streets.”

“It’s a rental,” Lewis snaps.

“Thank you, officers,” Valtteri interjects before the situation can escalate. “If everything is fine here, we’d like to leave.”

The cops slowly back off and get back into their cruisers and drive off. Lewis feels a lingering sense of unease as he sildes into the driver’s seat. “Texas is fuckin’ weird,” he mutters.

“No kidding.”


End file.
